For copyright and disclaimers, please see chapter 1

13 – Classes, Week Thirteen, Second Year
Sunday, November 21, 1999:
Hogwarts, Room of Requirement: 10:11
"Aunt Sheila!" Mattie called. She hugged her aunt, then asked, "It's great to see you, but why are you here?"

"Officially? Ballycastle business. I do have a bit to discuss with you later. But since we figured you were going to run off to rescue your friends, you could use someone with a bit more experience along." Sheila pulled out a chair and sat down.

"I've got Dad's permission?" Mattie grinned, "That's cool."

"A job like this should let you stretch your wings a bit," Sheila grinned, glancing at Professor Harry. "Certain of your professors also wanted the help."

"We wanted our arses covered, in other words," Harry added.

"Anyway, kiddo, I'm sure you could do this yourself, but I was getting bored with paperwork in London," Sheila said. "Be glad your Mom is tied up with Thanksgiving parties at home."

"Excuse me," Abby Michaels asked, "You think this will be an easy job?"

"Breaking in to a government office, freeing some prisoners, and," Sheila grinned at Professor Harry, "Leaving a calling card? That's a nice touch. We're not minimizing the risk, there is the possibility that we could be captured or killed. However, with proper planning, the biggest problem we should have is carrying all the gold, and you've spells for that." She opened a binder, "Let's go over your plan, and see where we can improve it."

"Just remember, we've spies among the guards. They're not to be killed," Harry said.

Arthur asked, "Who's running this operation? I think Mattie should."

Minerva cocked her head, "Why do you say that, Mr. Morton?"

"Simple," he said, "You and I will be scouting up ahead, Professor. You'll be in your cat form, and can't communicate, except by signaling with your tail. I don't have experience in covert operations, and Abby doesn't either. Ms. Hawking isn't a witch, which disqualifies her, and she'll be with Abby in the trailing position. That leaves either Mattie or Professor Potter, who's a trained wizard. How much covert experience do you have, Professor?"

"I agree with Mr. Morton," Harry said. "I'm the magical backup, but this will be as non-magical as possible. I also have a limited amount of experience in that type of thing, so someone that has should lead it." He steepled his hands, adding, "That means, Miss Wayne, our lives, those of the captives and the success of the mission are in your hands. Can you handle it?"

Mattie took a breath, held it; saying, "If Ms. Hawking will agree to be my backup, I'll agree. Moonrise is," she flipped through some notes, "Four-forty on Tuesday afternoon in London. Working backward from that, since we want this to be a surprise to Mr. Fudge, we need to enter the Ministry no later than…"

Sunday, November 21, 1999:
Hogwarts, Infirmary: 11:21
"Narcissa, I trust you got my little note?"

Narcissa Black looked at the grinning student. 'That expression reminds me of Lucius… It can't be, though. Can it?' she thought. "Note? No, I haven't received any notes from you. However, since you're here, there are things we need to discuss."

"Oh, yes, there are 'things to discuss', the first-year said. "Discussions regarding my will and your obedience to my commands, Narcissa. Remember a little spell I placed on you when you read my letter? Now what was that?" The grin widened, "I remember! It was 'Fidelus Verias' wasn't it?" The first-year motioned to the Infirmary's office door. "After you, Narcissa. We need to talk about candles."

Monday, November 22, 1999:
London, Diagon Alley: 09:26
Edward Hansen smiled with grim delight. They had managed to capture six more werewolves, including some that had naively turned themselves in to the Ministry because of their propaganda. One of these was a young boy, whose frightened mother had reluctantly turned him over. He smirked, soon she wouldn't have the problem of her son; she could get on with her life.

He scowled at passerby. The Dark Lord had had the right idea; there were too many mudbloods and muggles infesting the magical world. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord hadn't granted him the Mark, choosing instead to keep Edward undercover, a sleeper agent. He was sure there were many others besides him; unfortunately Lucius had been his contact with the Dark Lord. When he had died in Azkaban, his contact with the rest of the network was lost.

Hansen turned to supervise the work crew. They sullenly assembled a platform that he and the Minister would mount, together with the three youngest of these dangerous creatures tomorrow night. He took a glance down the Alley, and then in front of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. The platform being built in front of their shop should shut up the annoying Weasleys. He strode over, and tore down the large Union Jack hanging next to their door. Unfortunately, too many merchants had the flag, as well as that damned petition. He had tried to bring the Minister's attention to it, but had been rebuffed. Well, he'd show them. In a few years, he'd be Minister, instead of that toad Umbridge, who was also jockeying for power. Throwing the flag down in the slush, he pointed his wand, a quick 'incendio' destroying the rag.

Monday, November 22, 1999:
Gotham, Wayne headquarters, second floor employee gym: 12:09
"Need a sparring partner?"

'Iron Mike' Tattaglia looked up, measuring the man. 'Black hair, ice blue eyes, good build,' he thought, answering "Sure." The guy strapped on a pair of gloves, and entered the ring with him. They bumped gloves, introducing himself as "Bruce".

"One favor," Bruce said as they circled, "Avoid the face, please. I've got a charity thing to go to tonight, and my wife won't be pleased if I show up with a black eye."

"Charity thing?" Mike asked, realizing, 'Holy shit! This is Bruce Wayne!' He took a step back, Bruce grinning, "This is the gym. In here, I'm Bruce. Up there," he motioned to the ceiling, "I'm Mr. Wayne. You gonna fight?"

'The guys in the local ain't gonna believe this,' Mike thought. "What the hell," he replied with a grin. "Loser buys the drinks?" Bruce grinned.

"So what's this charity thing?" Mike asked. Wayne gave as good as he got, so Mike had avoided the face. 'He takes a beating like a man. I don't wanna get him in trouble at home,' he thought.

"Gotham General's expanding their magnetic imaging program," Bruce replied. "It's a fundraiser for a new unit. Since they run five million plus a unit, we throw a fundraiser."

Mike took a sip of water, "You couldn't write a check?"

"It's not just the unit, but the building, operating costs, personnel, training, and so forth," Bruce explained. "You actually get more money by doing it this way, more people feel good about themselves, so they're more likely to contribute again…"

"You don't wanna go, though."

Bruce shook his head, "They're boring as hell," he admitted. "I'd rather be at home getting the house ready for Christmas. My daughter's coming home from school for the holidays." He pulled out his wallet, extracting a photo. "My two girls," passing a picture of Selina and Mattie to Mike.

"She's got her mom's eyes," Mike said, passing over a photo in return. "Annie, Mike Jr. and Steve. Where does your daughter go to school?"

"England," Bruce said. "Not just for the education, but for the security. You know what this town is like." Mike grunted as Bruce pulled out a group photo, "Last Christmas," he pointed with a straw, "We invited friends of Mattie to stay over for the holidays. These are the Cortez family from New York, and this mob is the Mortons from Columbus." He smiled, "Great time."

"Yeah, just regular folks," Mike said. "What do they do?"

"Bill Morton drives a truck for FedEx, his wife works in the library at Ohio State," Bruce said, "Maria Cortez is a lawyer for the City of New York, Julio is an accountant. Actually, Bill gave us the most problems last year."

"How so?" Mike asked.

"Had trouble getting time off," Bruce admitted. "Same problem this year. He's got fifteen-something years with FedEx, but his family was planning on going to England for the holidays. The tourist thing, only he won't be able to make it."

"Pity," Mike mused. He swirled the water in his bottle, asking, "He's union?"

"Teamsters. I don't know what local, though," Bruce admitted. He raised his hand, "Hey, I'm not asking…"

"You're not. You're just grousing in a bar," Mike answered. He pushed over a napkin, "Jot his name down, wouldya?"

Monday, November 22, 1999:
Columbus, FedEx distribution center: 13:49
"Hey, Bill! Bill Morton!" the shop steward called. "C'mere a minute."

"Problem, Joe?"

"Yeah, I got a problem," the heavyset black man said. "What's this I hear about you not goin' with your family for the holidays?"

Bill shrugged, "I couldn't get time off, too low on the seniority list. How'd you know?"

"Hey, I'm steward, a little birdie told me," Joe said with a grin. "You wanna go? You got the time? Hell, you never take time, a'course you do."

"Of course, but…"

"You got passports and all that crap?" Bill nodded, and Joe said, "Let's make it happen then. You been bustin' your ass on overtime to pay for your kid's school, least the union can do is help out." He poked a meaty finger in Bill's chest, "That's what the union's for, numbnuts."

Joe knocked, making the cheap door shiver. He poked his head in, "Steve, I got a little unofficial problem." Steve waved him in; Joe continued, "Bill here can't get the time off to go to England with his family for Christmas. Think we can make that happen?"

Steve changed windows; typing a bit on the computer, "When do you need, Bill?"

Joe eyed Bill, who said, "We have an early flight over on the 21st, arriving about five pm local time. The flight back is on New Years, a day for jet lag, so Monday the third I'm back."

Steve took a sip of coffee, typed a bit, then said, "If you can take off on the 20th, you'd be better. Transatlantic's a killer flight," and Joe nodded. "Only problem I see is getting Mario to cover your route on the 20th." He grinned at Bill, "Send me a postcard from London, would you?"

"I'll talk to Mario," Joe said. "Set it up, wouldya, Steve?"

Tuesday, November 23, 1999:
Hogwarts, Room of Requirement: 12:13
Minerva entered the Room of Requirement, holding the door open for Abby Michaels. Professor Harry looked up, smiling and said, "Good afternoon, ladies. Dobby will be by with a light lunch in a minute. We can't have a growling stomach give us away. You can change on the left there; Mr. Morton is on the right."
Abby stopped, paralyzed by shock as she entered the small changing room. Before her stood two wraiths, clad from head to toe in material that seemed to absorb light. Aside from their height, the only difference between them was a small symbol on their left shoulders, one yellow, and one green. Dark capes that evoked a moonless night brushed the floor, equipment belts secured around their waists. They looked at her with featureless masks; Abby shivered from the sense of menace in the brightly lit room.

"What…" Abby asked.

"Working clothes," the smaller wraith answered emotionlessly, "We've eaten, get dressed." Abby looked at Professor McGonagall. When she looked back, both wraiths had vanished.

"Are we finally ready?" the taller wraith asked.

Abby and Arthur hefted their bundles of flowers (courtesy of Professor Sprout), while Mattie stowed the shrunken boxes of golden portkeys. Harry said, "Let me cast invisibility and silencing spells, then we can go."

Tuesday, November 23, 1999:
London, Ministry of Magic Atrium: 13:31
With a discreet pop, Abby appeared in the Atrium. She heard in her earpiece, "This is Six. Sound off."

"One," "Two," "Three," "Four," "Five."

"Good," Mattie, also known as 'Six' said. "Remember, you can still be felt, so avoid people. Proceed to the lift bank while Two distracts the guard. Four, what level do we need?"

Minerva moved to distract the guard, while Abby said, "The courtrooms are on level ten, that's where I'd start."

The guard got up to investigate a noise at the Fountain of Magical Brethren, and Abby slipped past his station. Harry said, "Three here. We want level nine; there are stairs going down to the courtrooms. End of the corridor from the lifts."

"End lift," Arthur, also known as Five; said. "Hurry up, we're holding it."

"Is everyone on?" Six asked. There were grunts of assent, and the doors closed before a puffing bureaucrat could board. They heard him say 'Bollocks!' as they descended.

Abby flattened herself against the wall as a sneering Edward Hansen strode past, followed by three guards, each with a werewolf in a full body bind floating at the tip of his wand. Abby felt herself tense as Jeremy floated past, when a hand clamped down on her arm. "We'll get them, don't worry," One whispered, "That means there's only three guards downstairs, and the door's still open. Come on!"

"It's open because I'm holding it open with my hand," Arthur said.

"The door on the extreme left leads down to the dungeons," 'Five' said. "The extreme right has dementors," Arthur added. "What is it with spiral staircases here?"

"Medieval architecture," Mattie said. "Quiet everyone. Five, see anyone coming?"

"A couple of cats, that's all. Maybe Two can talk to them?"

"Possibly," Minerva said. "'Finite Incantatem'" and she appeared, then shrinking into her cat form. She sat next to the cats; then rose back to her human form. "Two of the guards are in the guard room; the third is in the loo. I think we can dispense with the invisibility spell, they're starting to flicker."

"Leave mine on," Sheila (One) said. "I'm your ace in the hole."

"Good idea, One," Invisibility spells were dispersed, and Minerva the cat lead off, followed by Arthur, while Mattie and Harry faded into the shadows to follow. Abby swallowed nervously, casting a perimeter charm. She heard a soft chuckle, "Don't worry, Four. I'm with you."

"I can barely sense you, One," Abby whispered.

"Quiet! We can still be heard!" Six said. Abby rolled her eyes, and replied, "Yes, ma'am."

"Rowrrr," Minerva purred, pushing the door to the guardroom. She left it open enough so the others could slip through. Jumping up to an empty chair, she stood, forepaws on the table, haughtily inspecting the card game.

"You'll have to wait for the next hand, luv," one guard joked, throwing down a card. "Ha, beat that, mate!"

"Bugger," the other guard said, looking up from his hand into a black-clad nightmare. He shoved his chair back as he reached for his wand, collapsing as an invisible hand touched his shoulder.

"What?" the first said as his partner suddenly reached for his wand, only to have a black-clad hand touch his shoulder. He collapsed forward onto his winning hand, a flower dropped into the center of the table.

"Mattie, you can't go in there!" Abby whispered, "That's the gents!" The door was yanked open, the third guard plowing into her. The guard staggered, then shook his head and saw four dark-clad figures. "Merlin!" he said, drawing his wand as he backed away, casting 'Protegro'. He suddenly jerked forward, and collapsed.

"I think you can take this spell off now," Sheila asked. "Give him a flower, and modify his memory so he only saw one person."

"More bad news," 'Three' said as he stood from where the third guard lay. "They've taken the three youngest to Diagon Alley for some reason." Harry swallowed, adding, "They've also got three new ones, so we've a total of forty to rescue here. How's our time?"

"Fourteen twenty, so we've got two hours and twenty minutes," Mattie said. She passed Harry a small device, "This is a lock pick, modified to work on magical locks. No magic if we can help it. Two, Five, lead off."

Six pressed her pick against the cell door, which snicked open. She held her finger against her lips, and the haggard middle aged man nodded as she released his chains. She dropped a small reddish flower as she helped him to stand. Passing him the galleon on a chain, she whispered, "Over your neck. It's a portkey to a cell at Hogwarts, where you can transform safely." He nodded, the small wraith telling him, "Hold it, and say 'Hogwarts Carcerous'." She turned to go, the man touching her elbow, "Bless you, luv." He touched the portkey and was gone, while Mattie stood, frozen for a second.
"Sixteen oh five," Six said, "We've got thirty five minutes to rescue the last three. Where are they?"

"One of the 'wolves said he overheard the guards say they were going to Diagon Alley," Harry replied. "Put your portkeys on, I'll reset them for the back room of the Wheeze."

With a series of pops, the raiding party appeared in the small back room. Fred had his wand out, asking, "How did you get through our wards?"

Harry removed his mask, saying, "I'm a part-owner, that's how. Know anything about a Ministry show in the Alley?"

Fred put his wand away, "Out front. It's a big stage with something covered in the back. Fudge is due to start babbling in a few minutes, ruining our business." He motioned to the others, eyes lingering on the two black wraiths, "Who are these, mate?"

"Friends of mine that you've never seen," Harry said, pulling his mask back on. "Want me to obliviate you?"

"That bad?" Fred asked with a chuckle. He unlocked the back door, adding, "Jump over the third step."

'Sixteen ten' Mattie fretted as she ghosted through the alley. She could hear crowd noises a few yards away, and touched her earworm. "This is Six, One and I will go take these out, and the rest of you keep an eye out for Fudge."

"Are you sure, Six?" Minerva said. "Three and I could…"

"You're our backup, Two. Stand by." Minerva saw a flicker of black, and whispered a spell to extinguish a street lamp.

"Fudge is here," Abby whispered, as the portly Minister strode through the crowd, his way cleared by DMLE thugs. "He's got … four guards with him that I see."

"Can you and Five see any way to narrow those numbers down, Four?"

"Not without starting a riot, Six," Arthur answered. "Should I?"

"Negative."

"Guard is heading for the tarp," Harry warned.

"Take him out, Three." Harry moved behind the guard, and muttered 'Stupefy' Grabbing the guard's DMLE cloak, he rolled the stunned guard under the platform. "I'm wearing his cloak, Six," Harry whispered as he assumed a guard position. "Proceed."

"Jeremy," Mattie whispered as she unlocked his cage.

The shivering boy turned around, asking "Who're you?"

"Call me the Pimpernel, and you never saw me," she said as she unlocked his chains. She draped a chain over his head, "This will take you to a cell at Hogwarts. Use 'Hogwarts Carcerous' for the portkey." She dropped a flower, and moved to the next cage as the crowd noise on the other side of the thin tarpaulin increased.

"Amy," the Pimpernel said as she unlocked the shivering werewolf's chains, "Did you hear what I told Jeremy?"

"Yes, but you'd best hurry," she said through clenched teeth. "I can feel the change about to start." Amy accepted the portkey, and popped away as a loud noise was heard.

"Leave me, it's too dangerous," Edward the five year old werewolf said. "You don't have much time!" The shackles snapped open, and he grabbed the portkey, muttering, 'Hogwarts Cenatio' in his haste.

"Six to all, the last just used the wrong phrase on the portkey!" Mattie called.

"What did he say?" Minerva asked.

'Hogwarts Cenatio'

"We've just portkeyed a werewolf into the Great Hall," Minerva said grimly.

Tuesday, November 23, 1999:
London, Diagon Alley: 16:33
Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, stepped onto the podium, the dragon hide folder containing his speech in his left hand. He waved and smiled at the noisy crowd, then took a seat next to the tarp-covered cages in the back, Dolores sitting beside him as Edward moved to the podium for the opening remarks. "Listen to that, Dolores," he chortled. "They love me!"

Dolores Umbridge turned to listen to what the crowd was shouting. She would hardly call it loving, more like a lynch mob. She smiled weakly, and agreed, "They certainly do, Cornelius," as she edged away. "Why aren't we hearing the werewolves? Certainly they can hear the mob."

"A silencing spell, no doubt," Fudge dismissed the worry. He checked his pocket watch; then said, "Drat that crowd. We're behind schedule." Edward blathered on, and Fudge leaned forward to hiss at him, "Edward!"

(16:38:50)
"And now, a man that needs no introduction, may I present our beloved Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge!" Edward Hansen stood back, applauding as Fudge stood, waving at the crowd.

(16:39:05)
"Thank you for that wonderful introduction, Edward!" Fudge said, smiling at the crowd. He snapped open his folder, and looked up at the crowd. "My fellow wizards…"

(16:39:20)
The sniper settled into her perch, the crosshairs on her scope centered on Fudge's left ear. She took a breath, settled herself, and let out her breath as she squeezed the trigger…

(16:39:22)
Crowd noise muffled the crack of the rifle as an errant gust of wind blew Fudge's speech out of his folder. He bent to retrieve it as Edward Hansen jumped up to help. The bullet creased the back of Fudge's head as it slammed through Hansen's head, burying itself in Dolores Umbridge's right shoulder as the exit wound sprayed blood on Umbridge, who started to scream hysterically. Hansen slowly folded down to the wooden platform, his eyes open.

(16:39:40)
"Drat!" The sniper said, "I missed!" She brushed her long red hair out of her face, took one last look and apparated away.

Tuesday, November 23, 1999:
Hogwarts, Great Hall: 16:38
Edward the five-year-old werewolf dropped onto the Gryffindor table, just as Felicia Hansen was standing up to pour more pumpkin juice. She watched in horror as the small boy screamed and started to transform in front of her. As she stood, frozen in fear, the goblet she held dropped to the stone floor, drawing the werewolf's attention to her. A fourth-year shouted 'Stupefy' while another shouted 'Incarcerous'. Felicia screamed, flinging her arms up, as the werewolf latched onto her, fangs sinking deep into her arm. With a pop, a black-clad figure appeared, a slim green beam spearing from her hand to wrap around Felicia and the werewolf, lifting them off the floor as she flew out of the hall. From the Hufflepuff table a few feet away Charlie Adams watched; mouth open.
Mattie flew through the halls of Hogwarts, Edward thrashing against the green energy surrounding him while Felicia stared at nothing in shock. A tendril of energy opened the cell while acting as a barrier to any werewolves that might wake. Edward was gently deposited in the cell, the sleep gas taking effect as the cell was closed. Mattie watched as he staggered in circles; then collapsed. Felicia twisted to look at her captor, asking, "Are you going to put me in there?"

The silent figure shook her head; then flew out, closing the barriers after her.

Tuesday, November 23, 1999:
Hogwarts, Great Hall: 16:39
The other five of the Pimpernel project appeared, Minerva pulling off her mask and fixing on Harry Spencer. "Mr. Spencer! What's happened?"

He blinked; then said, "Professor? What…" She shook him, and he said, "A boy appeared, then started to transform into a werewolf in front of Felicia Hansen. She…" he swallowed, "She dropped her goblet in shock and he bit her."

"Was anyone else bitten?" He shook his head, "Someone in black appeared and carried them off on a green energy field. I don't know where." The five traded a look; then ran out of the hall, only to see a black figure flying up to the third floor.

Felicia had switched to silent sobs as she was gently deposited in a bed, the green energy changing to a mesh. Poppy Pomfrey hurried out of her office, asking, "What is going on?"

When Felicia simply continued to sob, the black figure said, "Werewolf bite, right arm."

Poppy moved to look, drawing her wand and saying over her shoulder, "Get rid of this … thing. She's not infectious now."

The green field vanished, as Felicia hiccupped, saying, "I wasn't bitten?"

Poppy sighed, sitting on the bed next to the second-year. She raised the girl's arm, showing her the torn sleeve and the fresh white scar; then turned as several people ran in, including Minerva. She waved her wand; then said gently, "I said you weren't infectious now, child. However, you were definitely bitten. I'm sorry, would you like me to be present when we inform your father?"

"Father…" Felicia said, breaking into fresh sobs. "He'll disown me!"

"Now, dear…" Minerva said, sitting on Felicia's bed as the rest silently left.

Mattie waited until they were back in the Room of Requirement before unsealing her mask. "Oh, god, I wasn't fast enough! It's my fault she was bitten! He must have misheard the activation phrase!"

"Less than a minute?" Abby said, sitting on the floor next to Mattie. "You were faster than the rest of us."

"Not good enough! I wasn't good enough! Arrgh!" Mattie leaped up, and began savagely beating a punching bag that appeared. Sheila squeezed Abby's shoulder; then braced the bag as Mattie assaulted it.

"Do you think she's at fault?" Harry asked; joining Arthur and Abby on the floor as Sheila spun the bag, allowing Mattie to abuse a new side.

Arthur shook his head, "We got forty-three out of forty-three out alive, with one injury and that wasn't one of us. Maybe he misheard the phrase; there was a lot of crowd noise for some reason. Considering the circumstances, I think we did damn well."

"Considering this was my first time doing something like this, I agree," Abby said, adding, "How long can she beat on that bag, it's almost destroyed!"

Arthur snorted, "Would you rather she beat on a person? She's blaming herself, whether she deserves to or not." Sheila spun the bag again; then leaned against it to brace it. Mattie changed her attacks on the bag to a series of kicks, using her momentum to switch back and forth in a savage blur. With a snap, one of the supporting chains snapped, Sheila changing the sides of the bag again. "What you're seeing is Mattie without the restraint she'd normally show." A second chain snapped.

Tuesday, November 23, 1999:
London, DMLE holding cells: 17:05
"'Bout time someone else got here," the sergeant said.

"Sorry, mate. What's up wi' them?" Perkins said, nodding at the still-unconscious guards.

"Dunno. Found 'em like this, another one out in the 'allway wif' a little red flower next to 'em." The sergeant scratched his head, "They're alive, but I don' smell drink on 'em."

Perkins scratched his chin, "He's got his wand out a bit. Any magic done?"

"Jus' housekeepin' spells and such," he motioned to the small sink where a brush continually scrubbed a soapy teapot. "Let's wake 'em up, see what they say."

"Enervate!"

"Aaaugh! Get 'er away from me!" one guard said as he woke.

"'Er? Who's 'er?" Perkins asked.

"She's a bloody demon from 'ell! A black demon from the gates of Hell! I wasn't doin' nuffin, just playin' cards, I looked up and saw her, and then I wake up to your ugly mugs!" The guard shuddered, "All in black, she was, raised her hand, and then…"

"What about the flower?" Perkins asked, motioning to the red flower on top of the pot.

"Where'd that come from?" the newly wakened guard asked.

Wednesday, November 24, 1999:
Hogwarts, Great Hall, Hufflepuff table: 07:13
"Post's here!"

Abby looked up from her plate as the usual storm of owls (and bats) came in, dusted from the snowstorm outside. She took a sip of tea, glancing over her teacup at Mattie Wayne across the hall at the Slytherin table. She caught some of the covert glances Slytherin were giving the second-year as she went through the motions of breakfast.

"Oh, my!" Daphne said; the Reporter opened before her as she read the headline article. "Who's the Pimpernel?"

Charlie Adams snorted in mirth. "You lot have never read The Scarlet Pimpernel? It's about an English aristocrat during the French revolution, saved a lot of nobles from the guillotine."

"He's reappeared after two hundred years," Eleanor said. She shook out the Prophet, adding, "Interesting that the Ministry hasn't a word about Fudge's plan, just a glowing eulogy about that arse Hansen."

"That's no way to talk about the dead," Arthur snapped. "Did you forget that he's got a daughter here? What about Felicia's mother?"

Eleanor shook her head, "Killed a few years ago by Death Eaters. It looks like she's an orphan."

"And a werewolf," Charlie added. "She was Bitten yesterday." People winced in sympathy, Charlie saying, "I'm sure Professor McGonagall will straighten her out." He glanced at the head table, where Minerva was reading the Reporter.

Wednesday, November 24, 1999:
Hogwarts, Infirmary: 08:39
Sprink woke to the soft sounds of someone sobbing. She looked around the crowded ward, seeing one of her year mates crying. Felicia Hansen, she realized as her brain woke up. Shaking her head and thinking, 'That sleepy gas is strong!' she groaned and threw back the covers, still clutching Mattie's worn clothing. "Hey there," she called softly to Felicia in the next bed. "What's wrong?"

Edward staggered up, flopping on Sprink's bed, "I bit her yesterday," and Sprink inhaled. "I used the wrong phrase on the Pimpernel's portkey," he looked mournfully at Felicia, adding, "I'm so sorry."

"What happened?" Sprink asked.

"We were in cages, the Pimpernel came to rescue us just before moonrise," he said. "It was really noisy, and I could feel the change coming. I messed up what she told me."

Felicia sniffled, "You didn't want to bite me?"

Edward shook his head as Sprink explained, "When you're feral, it's like you're a passenger in your body. You see and remember what happens, but you have absolutely no control. You have this horrible urge to bite, to tear things apart. That's why the potion is such a help, it returns control to you. You still have this dreadful need to bite, and you're still dangerous, but you retain your mind."

"Did I hear right?" Amy asked as she staggered over. "You were Bitten yesterday?" She looked at Edward, who nodded morosely, "I'm so sorry…"

"What are you all doing out of bed?" Poppy said as she strode up. "Go on, shoo! Back to bed with you! The elves will be up with breakfast shortly."

Wednesday, November 24, 1999:
Hogwarts, Potions Classroom: 09:00
The door slammed and locked on the stroke of nine. Professor Snape strode in with a swirl of black robes as the class was silent. He eyed the class, then asked, "Miss Cortez, where is Miss Tonks, your partner?"

Roshawn cleared her throat, "Infirmary, sir. Last night was a full moon."

"Ah, yes," he made a note; then looked up, "Mr. Morton, where is Miss Hansen?"

"Also in the Infirmary, sir, she was Bitten yesterday." There was a collective murmur, and Mattie choked back a sob.

Professor Snape eyed Mattie, making a note, then said, "Partner with Miss Cortez, Mr. Morton. Miss Wayne, see me after class." She nodded as he continued, "Monday we started on pest-control potions as part of our household curriculum, today we brew the first of them, Doxycide. As they are designed to kill pests, you must exercise greater care than normal. Instructions are on the board."

Mattie cleared her throat, "You wanted to see me, sir?"

He glowered at Arthur, who stopped dawdling and left. Casting a privacy spell, "Something is upsetting you, Miss Wayne. I will keep anything you tell me confidential, of course."

"You know where we were yesterday?"

"Officially, no, I do not. Unofficially, something went wrong?"

"I was releasing the last werewolf from his cage just before moonrise, he must have misheard the portkey phrase, or I should have repeated it. He portkeyed into the Great Hall, and before I could get there, he bit Felicia. It's my fault she's a werewolf!"

"I see," Severus said, as he sat in one of the student seats next to a morose Mattie. "What were the conditions when you were releasing him?"

"Noisy, just a minute or two before moonrise. That must have been when Hansen was shot. I gave the activation phrase to Amy and Jeremy, and Edward said he heard it, but then he said the wrong thing. I repeated what he said, and Professor McGonagall said that he went to the Great Hall instead of the cell." She looked at Severus, "I couldn't think of the spell to reset my portkey! It was a good twenty or thirty seconds before I could, and by then, she was bitten! It's my fault!"

Severus sat back and regarded her. "How much experience do you have with restricted spells like 'Portus'?"

She shook her head, "Not much."

"They are restricted for a reason, Miss Wayne." He favored her with a small smile, "We are aware of the lure of the forbidden, and students over the centuries have been inventive in bypassing the wards. This is a side benefit, as it encourages students to be creative. However, a great majority of the information in the Restricted Section is either dark, dangerous, or both. You have run into a side effect of the Portus spell, which I presume you did not research?"

"No, I accepted…" she suddenly stopped.

"You accepted Mr. Morton's directions on the spell, as he is extremely creative with his spellcasting." She nodded, "I will take no official notice of this, however, I will require from you and Mr. Morton a complete history and explanation of the Portus spell, with all the options, before you leave for the Christmas holidays." She nodded again, "In any case, you are not responsible for someone else's performance of a spell. You gave him the correct information, when he erred; you tried to correct the problem. I see no reason for recriminations."

"But…"

"But you still have feelings of guilt," Severus said. "That is part of life; it indicates a sense of ethics and morals. If you did not have those feelings I would be greatly alarmed. Indeed, if my experience with other werewolves is accurate, Edward is now agonizing over his Bite of Miss Hansen."

"I should go apologize to them…"

"If you wish, however, unless you wish the Pimpernel to have a very short career, I would sympathize, not apologize. When your father started his calling, he made mistakes?" She reluctantly nodded, "I am sure he learned from them, as well as his successes. Learn from this, and consider what can be improved." Severus' onyx eyes bored into Mattie's green eyes; then he nodded. "I will leave you with one thought. By all objective accounts, your mission was a success. You rescued all forty-three of the captive werewolves, and brought your team back without injury. In a combat environment, you do not have control of all factors. You did exceedingly well." He gave her a slight smile; dismissing the spell. "Go see your classmates. I am sure they will not object to your nibbling off their lunch trays."

Thursday, November 25, 1999:
Hogwarts, outside Greenhouse two: 09:05
The second-years stood outside, stomping their feet in the falling snow as they tried to stay warm. "This is bloody ridiculous," Charlie said.

"At least you're wearing trousers," Amanda said, "It keeps the snow out of your shoes. Tights, on the other hand…"

"If we have to wear uniform skirts in winter, we should be allowed winter boots," one twin said, her sister adding, "Knee high, at least."

"You blokes have it so easy," Felicia offered hesitantly, "Skirts all year, because it's tradition?"

"Why not use a warming charm?" Andrew asked, Mattie answering, "You have warm feet then, but they're still wet."

"Then when the charm fades, you're standing about with wet feet that freeze," Amanda said.

The doors opened, steam flooding out, and the class hurried in.

To: Mattie Wayne (Hogwarts) (encrypted)
From: Bruce Wayne
Date: November 25, 1999
Subject: Thanksgiving!
Attachment: DiagonRaid 23Nov1999report (encrypted)

Mattie:

Your mother says I should send you a little note for Thanksgiving. I wish you were here to enjoy the season with us, but we're consoling each other with the thought that we'll see you in a few weeks when you come home for the holidays.

Your suggestion that we let the Mortons fly to Inverness for the deadhead flight was excellent. They report that they have passports and visas in order, and have a van reserved for rental on December 21st. According to them, Arthur still has no idea of this Christmas present.

The Cortez and Fook parents will be joining them on the Gulfstream for the flight over. Dick and Barbara will be joining them for the drive to Hogwarts, they will be returning on the flight back on the 22nd.

We're pleased that you've decided to take up the family business. Sheila will be visiting before Arthur leaves with his family. We've decided to set up a network of safe houses in London. I'm also attaching a copy of Sheila's after-action report on your raid. My comments are appended to it.

I understand that you're feeling some guilt about a bystander being injured. Regretfully, they are a byproduct of our war. We do all we can to minimize collateral damage, it still occurs. I understand Professor Snape has discussed this with you; I would take his advice in this case.

Love,

Your father